


surviving summer 101

by wrenstars



Series: sumitaba week 2020 [5]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, summer shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25897438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenstars/pseuds/wrenstars
Summary: presenting sakura futaba’s flawless, well-thought-out, evidence-based guide to surviving a heat wave with your girlfriend.
Relationships: Sakura Futaba/Yoshizawa Sumire
Series: sumitaba week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873864
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	surviving summer 101

Futaba sprawls out over the table and groans from the bottom of her soul. It’s so. _Hot_. It’s so hot that she’s sure the entirety of her body has melted, turning her into something grosser and more spineless than a Slime. 

How _do_ Slimes move, anyway? 

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t care.

She’s not moving again. 

“It’s so hoooooooot,” Futaba moans into the table. “Sojiro, don’t you have any air conditioning?”

“I would if I had the money for it,” Sojiro grumbles. 

“Then work _harder_.” 

She’s spared from Sojiro’s gruff, half-hearted rebuttal by the door flying open. Futaba raises her head enough to see Sumire walk in, strands of red hair sticking to her herself and face shiny, covered in a sheen of sweat. 

“I’m sorry, Futaba, but I don’t think our plans to go to the park today will work,” she says, throwing herself into the opposite seat. She leans her head against the back of her seat in an attempt to keep the hair off her neck. “I couldn’t do it if I tried.” 

Futaba could kiss her for that alone. “Agreed. It’s _way_ too hot.”

“Indeed. I don’t want to step foot outside that door again.” 

Futaba raises her hand. “A+ plan,” she says, waving it lazily around. “Wholeheartedly agree.” 

Sumire closes her eyes and starts fanning herself. “Is there anything else to do instead?” 

Futaba tilts her head. Leblanc isn’t home base; it’s a base of operations, sure, but those aren’t designed to be as comfortable or well-equipped as anyone’s home base. 

But she isn’t the top expert on Leblanc for nothing. She knows things. She can scrape together a plan or two so they can still have their date. 

She grins wickedly. “I have a few ideas.” 

* * *

**Step One: Video Games**

“Aaaaand that’s my attention metre depleted for the day!” Futaba rolls over on Ren’s old bed—hey, he’s moved out, she can do whatever she damn well wants with his _crates_ , including moving it closer to his minuscule TV—and hands the controller out to Sumire. “Your turn.”

Sumire glances over from her perch on one of the stools they’d ‘borrowed’ from downstairs (Sojiro won’t notice they’d nicked it). “Are you sure?” she asks, watching the controller warily as though it’s about to bite her hand off. 

“Yup! Exhale of the Wild is a really calm game. I’ve just been doing sidequests for the past hour, not all of them are very demanding. Do more of those, explore, cut grass—you can do what you want! Just have fun with it.”

Sumire bites her lip. Slowly, she reaches out and places a hand on the control, though she doesn’t make an to pull it out of Futaba’s grip. 

“And you’re _definite_ that I’ll be alright?” she demands. “I won’t ruin any of your progress? There aren’t any items I’ll waste?”

Futaba shrugs. “Hey, we’re girlfriends. My inventory is your inventory, run wild.” She holds her pinky out. “Trust me. I guarantee that you’ll be fine.” 

Sumire eyes the gesture as apprehensively as she had the console. “The last time you said that, you made Akechi-san eat that extra-spicy curry. He _certainly_ wasn’t fine afterwards.” 

Futaba claps her hands together and throws her head back, cackling. That had been golden—Akechi’s bright red, twisted and utterly _horrified_ face is still perfectly imprinted into her memory. 

“Yeah, true,” says between gasp for breath, “But he _totally_ deserved it. You don’t deserve such treatment, so you can trust me. Girlfriend privilege.”

Sumire raises both eyebrows but takes the controller anyway, glancing over Futaba’s outstretched pinky like it doesn’t exist. Futaba drops her hand back to her side.

Okay, _fair_ , maybe she does deserve that reaction a _little_. But at least Sumire’s playing. At least she _can_ play. Ren’s dingy old attic isn’t good for much, especially since it looks even more abandoned now he’s taken his ridiculous tourist-y knickknacks with him—but hey, at least by coming up here they don’t have to go outside and are out of Sojiro’s way. 

At least he’s still being useful, even when he’s not here. 

Sumire peers intently at the screen like a science experiment, as though the village scenery is completely new and not something she’s been staring at for the past hour or so.

“Right,” she says, licking her lips. “What should I do now? _How_ should I do it?” 

She’s holding the controllers like they’re something fragile that will break at the slightest incorrect touch, looking at the buttons like a language she can’t decipher.

Oh, she’s so lost. She’s such a baby gamer. Futaba can’t help but laugh.

“Here, let the pro sort you out,” she chuckles, ignoring Sumire’s light glare. Futaba shuffles to the bed’s edge, leans over and points to each button, explaining their purpose and how it translates to gameplay. Sumire nods and hangs on her every word, like this a lesson and Futaba has just told her that all material is going to appear on the exam. 

It take about ten minutes to fully outline it and have Sumire test it out for herself. “You’ve now levelled up!” Futaba declares, clapping Sumire on the back. “Now do that last side quest I’d started! It’s a fairly easy sidequest to get you into the game.”

Sumire nods. “Okay,” she breaths. She readjusts her grip on the controls and narrows her eyes. “Alright. I can _do_ this.”

She looks like she’s about to fight Zanon on the highest difficulty, not search around town for a missing item. Futaba has to stifle her laughter behind her hand. It’s _adorable_. 

Sumire makes Mink run around the village, smashing pots and cutting grass, her face lighting up whenever she finds a hidden item. She likes climbing the rooftops, leaping over them: that isn’t much of a surprise, considering her background in gymnastics. 

“Oh!” Sumire exclaims some time later. “I caught a fairy!”

Her eyes shine like stars. She grabs Futaba’s arm, pointing to it like she’s the game’s final shrine. Futaba grins and offers her a round of applause. 

“Nice one!” she encourages. “You’re doing great, Sumi!”

Sumire beams and ploughs on.

Eventually, she gets the hang of it enough to leave the village and stand meandering in the nearest woods. Futaba zones out munches on a bag of chips, content to watch Sumire enjoy herself. 

“Oh no!” Sumire exclaims. Her voice is hushed, like they have any chance of being overheard (well, they do, but no one’s currently listening to Futaba’s bugs). “There’s an enemy.”

It’s one of the bigger, more advanced ones. A little _too_ overlevelled for a grasshopper like Sumire. Futaba shrugs. “No biggie. Sneak around it.”

Just as she says it, Sumire brings Mink just a little too close—the enemy looks up, sniffs, and looks directly at Mink. 

The exclamation point pings over its head.

Whoops.

“It’s spotted me!” Sumire shrieks, as it charges forward. Her face turns red and she turns Mink and makes him run, as fast as he can, in the other direction. “Futaba! What do I do? How do I fight again?” 

“Y button!”

“OK! Wait, which one _was_ that again?” 

Sumire looks down frantically at the controllers, then instantly back up at the screen. “Eep!!” She barely moves Mink out of the way of the enemy’s club. 

There’s no recovering from this. Futaba leaps from her bed and stands behind Sumire. “Here,” she says, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend and taking the controls. 

She’d have asked for the controls to be passed if she didn’t think Sumire would throw them at her.

Futaba makes quick work of the enemy with a few well-timed dodges and swings of Mink’s sword. By the end of it, both of their chests are heaving, rising and falling in time to each other’s. 

And they’re… _close_. Sumire’s sweaty body is wrapped tightly in the arms of Futaba’s _own_ sweaty body; a position that’d be snuggly and comfy in winter _but_ , unfortunately, it’s _not_ winter. It’s summer, and it’s _hot_ , and they’re _already_ hot and feel like dying, so combining the two problems only makes them feel like dying _more_. 

Futaba groans and collapses back on the bed, sprawling herself out as much as she can to cool off faster.

“That didn’t go as planned,” she mutters, as Sumire quits the game and delicately places the controllers back where they came from. 

**_Step One: Failed._ **

* * *

**_Step Two: Relaxing Yoga_ **

Futaba exhales heavily, sucking her stomach in as far as it can go. She bends over, stretching, as far as possible, her fingertips straining. So close. She’s _so_ close, her toes are only a few centimetres away… She just needs to push herself a little further… 

“Futaba,” Sumire exclaims, sounding vaguely horrified, “The point of yoga is to _breathe_ and stretch the muscles!”

Futaba stretches a little further. 

“I _know_ that!” she grunts. “I’m _trying_!” 

Her lungs are burning. Futaba pushes herself more, just a little more, before she pulls away and collapses on the floor. Her heart pounds and her lungs burst, and her breath coming to her in short gasps. She’s pretty sure that she can feel sweat on every part of her body. 

_Yoga’s relaxing_ , Sumire had said. _Stretching is slow, low impact, good for summer. You’ll stretch your muscles out and calm down at the same time!_ she’d said. 

If Futaba wasn’t currently gasping for breath, she’d snort in derision. 

Sumire straightens, fluid like water, from her own position: bent over double like she does this every day (she probably does), her head touching her thigh and fingers stretched beyond her toes. 

Show off. She puts Joker’s theatrics to shame. 

Sumire bites her lip as she watches Futaba’s shapeless, slime-like figure. 

“Maybe this isn’t the best idea when you’re not… athletically gifted,” she stammers.

Futaba sends her a withering look. 

“Oh, you’ve only _just_ noticed that my fitness stat is zero?” 

**_Step Two: Failed_ **

* * *

**_Step Three: Manga_ **

Futaba idly turns the page of her manga. 

She’s read this one a few times in the past, but she still enjoys it—and it’s not like she has much to choose from, not from the old manga she’d forgotten and lying around after visiting Ren. She looks over a Sumire, and the manga Futaba had _guessed_ that she would like perched daintily in her lap. 

She can’t tell if Sumire likes it or not. She barely feels like Sumire is in the room with her to begin with; she can see nothing but the pages of her manga while she’s reading, especially while they’re on opposite sides of the bed. 

“Liking your manga?” Futaba asks.

Sumire beams. “Sure am! It’s very engaging.” 

Futaba nods and flicks the page, re-emerging herself in the story. Sumire does the same. 

Futaba reads a few more pages. Readjusts her position. Twirls her hair for a bit of stimulation. She stretches her hand out so she can hold Sumire’s, but it doesn’t even reach the halfway point. 

“This doesn’t feel like a date,” she grumbles. 

“It doesn’t, does it?” Sumire muses. She tilts her head. “Should we read the same volume together?”

Futaba pictures it—the book resting on both their legs, Sumire’s head on her own as they read it aloud together. Their sticky, hot bodies pressed together in order to read. 

She shudders. 

“Sumi, I love you and normally would take any opportunity to be close to you, but _hell no_. We’d just be repeating the video game fail.”

Sumire bites her lip. “Ah. You’re right.”

They return to reading once more. Futaba has barely finished her current spread when Sumire groans and throws her head back, her skull banging against the wall. 

“Time to give it up?” she asks, lolling her head towards Futaba.

Futaba snaps her manga shut. “Yeah. Agreed.” 

**_Step Three: Failed_ **

* * *

**_Step Four: Icy Poles_ **

“Sojiroooooooo,” Futaba calls, clattering down the stairs. She slams her hands against Leblanc’s counter. “This is a code red situation! Do we still have those icy poles we bought the other day?”

She looks to him with innocent, pure hope. It’s not to be: Sakura Sojiro, Boss, master of Leblanc, chooses this moment to reveal his true form as an adoptive-coffee-dad-disguised-as-the-shatterer-of-hopes-and-dreams by shaking his head. “Sorry, Futaba, we don’t. Ren and Ryuji ate the last two after their run the other day.” 

“ _Ugh_!” Futaba curls her hands into a fist and bangs it against the wood. “Useless Ren! He ruins _everything_!” 

Sumire, who had followed Futaba down the stairs at a far more reasonable and far less disruptive walking pace, places a hand on Futaba’s shoulder. “It’s okay, ‘Taba. There’s a store just down the road, we can buy some more.” 

Futaba spins around and grasps both of Sumire’s hands. 

“Sumire,” she declares, “You are an angel. No angel more gracious and forgiving than you has ever graced this earth.” 

Sumire giggles. 

They march over to the door and thrust it open. Instantly, a wave of summer air washes over them—hot, stifling summer air, air that’s so thick and so heavy that Futaba feels like she’s being baked, that she’s drowning in lava in the deepest pits of Hell. 

They haven’t even taken a single step outside. 

“Nope! No way in _hell_ am I going out in _that_!” Futaba chirps, as Sumire slams the door closed. 

**_Step Four: Failed_ **

* * *

**_Step Five: ?_ **

“Any ideas what to do next?” 

“I don’t know. You?”

“Ren took his movies with him. I got nothing.”

“Looks like the heatwave’s beaten us.”

Futaba sighs. “The true final boss.”

Sumire slumps over the counter. 

“Truly.”

**_Step Five: Results Null_ **

* * *

“Would you like an iced coffee?” Sojiro asks.

Futaba turns her head, so her cheek is flustered against the table instead of the entirety of her face. Sojiro stands over their table, a sympathetic—if not amused—expression on his face. 

It’s hard to believe that only two hours have passed since Sumire arrived. It feels like it should be longer; the number of activities they’ve tried to do could normally fulfil a whole day.

What a hostess she is, that she needs Sojiro to patch together her disaster of a date. 

“I’d love one,” Sumire mumbles. 

“Iced cocoa and curry for me,” Futaba mumbles. 

Sojiro raises an eyebrow. “Curry in this weather?” 

“Why not?” Futaba shrugs. Food and a drink in a restaurant—surely that will make this seem more like a date. “The iced cocoa and rice will balance it out.” 

Sojiro rolls his eyes and turns to Sumire. “Should I made that double?" 

“Oh, please.” 

They hold hands throughout the entire meal.

It’s the most delicious curry that Futaba has ever eaten. 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/agicelestines)!


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